


A brief history of light

by jubah



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon Compliant, Elwing only appears in the last chapter!, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-23 14:48:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,552
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23379649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jubah/pseuds/jubah
Summary: Anairë and Ëarwen through the First Age.
Relationships: Anairë/Eärwen (Tolkien)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Legendarium Ladies April 2020





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of the first fics I've ever written! It's sappy (especially the epilogue) but I am very fond of it :)  
> A gigantic thank you to Kate @zimra for being my beta!

1\. **telperion**

Arafinwë’s wife is having trouble adapting to Tirion. That’s what Nolofinwë tells Anairë when she asks him about how his brother fares. It is a gentle, if obvious, suggestion, and Anairë formally invites Eärwen for a visit on the next waning of Telperion.

2\. **stars**

Anairë shows Eärwen her favorite things about Tirion: the way the light reflects on the cut stone, on the lively markets and city squares, and on her kinsmen’s vast gardens and intricate gowns. Eärwen’s laugh is melodious, like her accent. Half the things they see she compares to their equivalents in Alqualondë; the other half don’t exist in Alqualondë.

After some time, Anairë learns more about the Telerin city and its people than she ever thought there was to know. In her mind it seems even more foreign and enticing than the lands beyond the sea that her oldest relatives sing about. She’s the most curious about things she’s never seen: the infinite stars in the dark sky, which Eärwen compares to the small pearls and diamonds Anairë has taken to wearing in her black hair; and the sea visiting the shore in waves of white foam, which she imagines look just like Eärwen’s hair falling down her back as she moves.

3\. **laurelin**

Anairë and Eärwen talk often about their willful daughters. Neither will admit it, but they compete over them somewhat. Angaráto and Aikanáro are inseparable, but seem to get along well enough with Findekáno, with whom they occasionally go hunting. Findaráto and Turukáno have always been the best of friends; sometimes they even have tea at Anairë’s house, all of them together, and Elenwë too. They take Itarillë for a walk into the mountains where they can best see the waxing of Laurelin, the mingling of the lights exquisite from this privileged point of view. These days, the two of them meet more often than their husbands do, or even their sons. Eärwen confides in her that she has always wanted a sister; Anairë doesn’t know if she ever felt like she truly had one before.

4\. **dark**

In the unnatural darkness, Anairë hugs Nolofinwë tightly, agreeing to his plan despite all of her misgivings. It barely registers when he says they must first head to Alqualondë, but later it feels like a twisted version of her dreams of visiting with her whole family - her’s and Eärwen’s, all together. Eärwen had promised they'd all go sailing on Telerin boats one day; Anairë didn’t expect they would be going to Middle-earth, or that her half-brother-in-law, who had held a sword to her husband’s neck just a few years before, would be the one taking them there.

5\. **thunder**

She had dreamed about Alqualondë before. _This_ is a nightmare.

The bodies, the smell...the blood and the horror, the screams and the thunder-gleam of metal-

\- her _son_.

6\. **fire**

Anairë doesn’t understand a word Nolowinfë is saying. He trembles like the flame of the candle in his hand - he is rambling, nervous, nothing he says makes any sense. _Ships?_

“Where is Arafinwë?” is her reply, but also: _Where are our nephews? Powers, where is_ Eärwen _?_

He closes his mouth and tenses even more, taut like a bow string, unsure as the miserly light. She knows he doesn’t know. He doesn't know anything. 

She tells him as much, and a lot more, before Findekáno comes in and tries to calm them both. Then she screams at her son, so loudly and for so long that her ears ring for hours.

7\. **stars again**

She is not leaving them - _they_ are leaving _her_. At least Turukáno seems aware of that, though he will not say a single word about it, not now. Eärwen is staying as well, locked up with her father, her mind and heart beyond reach. Anairë leans against the walls of Olwë's dwelling, and is almost lost to hopelessness by the time Arafinwë arrives with a few others in tow, all looking haunted and dogged. They are like ghosts under the pale light of Varda’s stars, marching silently, and it seems to her there is an unnatural smell clinging to them. But they come, and no arrows are fired at them from a distance. 

Arafinwë stops by Anairë’s side, but he can’t seem to find words for her, and much less for Eärwen. They stand there until she reaches for his arm in the darkness. Alone, together, they return to their own ghost city.

8\. **the moon**

The moon is shining brightly in the sky. In Tirion, it only makes the heart ache with longing for the Two Trees, but in Alqualondë she can almost pretend it is natural to this place, where everything is unfamiliar to her. She wonders if she is the first Noldo to see the silvery light reflected on the sea, before realizing her husband and children have probably seen it too, by now. It is a strange thought, and she shoos it away. This is not the time.

Eärwen’s expression is unfamiliar, too. The Eärwen she knew in Tirion always wore her emotions freely in her face, her fëa expansive and her smile contagious. In this Alqualondë, this Eärwen is so guarded that she makes Anairë almost wish she had never attempted to call on her again.

Almost.

“You stayed.”

“So did you.” Anairë looks up at her. “Arafinwë stayed too.”

“Yes. We are here now, and all else is gone.”

Eärwen turns her back to the moonlit window, so Anairë can only see her silhouette and guess at what face she’s making.

“They shall return one day. Meanwhile, we still have each other, at least.”

The words are inelegant and difficult, but honest. Anairë feels the heaviness in her heart and waits for Eärwen to start crying, before she realizes it is her tears that are now flowing. The loneliness, the strain, the emptiness around her - everything reminds her of death and loss. It is too much, and like most days she wishes for the bliss of forgetfulness. But then there are two arms embracing her, and the tears taste a little less bitter for once.

Eärwen’s tears taste like the sea.


	2. epilogue

**the sun**

On a terrace facing east, they watch the sun rise over the sea, together for the first time in years. Anairë stands behind the two ladies on the hammock, enjoying the breeze that sways the curtains.

"It was very strange for us when it rose for the first time." Eärwen's raspy voice is a comfort - clear but very quiet, like she’s confiding something important. "To see such light in these parts, you see? My father says we built Alpalondë because we would not forsake the stars, and some of us are still bitter over having to wait for hours in order to see them again. Some even prefer to sleep during the day, in order to avoid the sun altogether. But others have come to love it, for its warmth and colors and other gifts."

Sunlight dyes the sky with many shades, and they are also reflected on the twinkling waters of the sea. Anairë doesn’t remember when she started admiring the sun for its own beauty, instead of as a sentimental placeholder for what they had lost, but it has become dear to her over time. 

Another voice, louder and deeper, answers Eärwen before Anairë can even think whether a reply is warranted or not. Elwing is so alive and fast in all she does. She reacts even as she acts, as if she’s out of time. Her emotions are like the wind over Túna, loud and unpredictable, going somewhere and everywhere at the same time.

It reminds her of Irísse, somehow.

“A life without the sun, always under the night sky...It sounds lonely.”

“Why ever would you think so?” Eärwen asks, though both she and Anairë know who Elwing is thinking of.

“It just seems… odd. Without its colors. The passing of time… the warmth. I think… my skin would feel lonely, without it. Maybe even my bones.”

Anairë feels compelled to speak for the first time. “We do miss it. We had other colors, before, you know. We had to learn how to love the new ones.” _As did those who came before us,_ she thought, and more soberly _, and those who came after, like you._

“But we did learn,” Eärwen adds a little too fervently, “The heart learns and relearns as many times as it takes, because it wants to.”

“Indeed,” is Elwing's almost timid reply, and Anairë knows she is very young, and at the same time, very burdened by her years. “But we never quite _unlearn_. To love, I mean.”

Anairë touches Eärwen’s shoulder. She thinks of Arien all alone up there, and of her own family in an unfathomable place, and of the softness and color of Eärwen’s hair when she runs her hand through it. She reaches for it again now, on impulse. There is no order to her thoughts. She lets them run as freely as her fingers.

In the distance, Telerin sailors are singing.

For a long time they stay there, bathed in warmth, anchored by the weight of attachment and of their own comforting touch. They watch the stars as they disappear, one by one, under the irresistible veil of dawn. 


End file.
